


you know when you're alone

by darkarcher



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, They Love Each Other OK, bc thats how i roll babey, eobard is secretly soft, like at all, malcolm is just not okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 22:16:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20160979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkarcher/pseuds/darkarcher
Summary: Malcolm is hurt and Eobard helps him feel less alone





	you know when you're alone

**Author's Note:**

> *whips* from what i can gather this is a rare pair?? who knew  
this is like some s2 shit- but specifics? who needs em

Malcolm sat on the bed in a grungy hotel room, head in his hands. He was bleeding from a gash right below his hairline. But he wasn't sure where he'd got it. All he knew was there was blood running down his face and he couldn't move even if he wanted to. His white dress shirt was stained red, his knuckles raw and bloody, his prosthetic hand was chewed up towards the fingers. 

He barely knew where he was as he was as dazed as ever. His lip was split. He knew that from the metallic tang in his mouth. The room seemed to spin every time he tried to look up. So eventually, he just stopped trying. Time was another issue, he had no clue what time it was. Night, guessing from how dim the room was. 

The door opened, but he was far too disoriented to ready himself if a fight was to break out. In all honesty, he was prepared to die.

"Malcolm?" Eobard asked, shutting the door behind him.

Malcolm didn't respond. His head was spinning with questions he didn't know the answer to. Why the hell was Eobard here? They were… something. Definitely not dating, but something, nonetheless. Regardless, he couldn't remember why Eobard would be here. Wherever here was. Footsteps circled the bed, coming to a stop in front of him. His eyes fixed on Eobard's boots, finding some comfort in the familiarity. 

"What happened?" Eobard crouched down, moving so he could meet Malcolm's blank stare.

Malcolm half shrugged. It hurt to even do that. Eobard eyed him for a moment longer before reaching out to unbutton his shirt. Malcolm let out a small noise of protest, even in this delirious state, he knew he didn't want Eobard to see his scars. Eobard paused when Malcolm placed his beat up hands on his wrists.

"I need to stitch up your wounds." Eobard explained, though he was trying to keep his annoyance in check, "It'd be a waste if you bled out."

Malcolm dipped his head down, resting his forehead against Eobard's. The speedster sighed as Malcolm let go of his wrists, allowing him to continue unbuttoning the bloody dress shirt. As soon as Eobard finished, he was faced with a fairly large scar on Malcolm's chest, one that seemed to have cut deeper than Malcolm would ever admit.

The assassin knew where it came from. He knew the weight behind it. And, even as lightheaded and scatterbrained as he was now, he knew Eobard was dying to ask which blade had caused it. It was easily the most grizzly scar in his collection. Despite the torture Ra's put him through, the Demon's Head never managed anything quite as unforgettable. He'd never shown the scar to anyone, he simply never wanted to. Especially not to Eobard.

Eobard vanished suddenly. A flash of red lightning left in his spot. But in an instant he returned. Jacket now gone and bandages in hand. The speedster wasted no time, pulling the bloody shirt off of Malcolm and throwing it to the side. He used his superspeed to stitch the wounds, bandaging them and cleaning them. It took less than five seconds and Malcolm had counted every one of them.

"Do you, uh," Eobard began after he finished, faltering halfway through. Empathy had never been a strong point for him, "need anything? Want anything?" 

Malcolm didn't respond. He was far too busy staring at the carpet. The far away memory of being chained up in a cave chewed at the back of his mind, begging to be remembered clearly. Sometimes, he could still feel a sword in his chest, blood steadily dripping down, down, down. He didn't know where he was. He didn't know why he was hurt. But he knew whatever the reason, he deserved it. Not that he would ever admit that.

When Eobard realized Malcolm wouldn't answer, he sat down on the bed beside the injured assassin. His arm slipped around Malcolm's waist, tugging him close. 

"I'm here, Malcolm." Eobard reminded him.

With a tilt of his head, Malcolm looked up to the speedster. There was far too much to say. But none of it mattered. His head was fuzzy with regrets and for a moment he wished he could will it all away. He wished he was lucid enough to blink and no longer see the ghosts of a broken past. But this was all his fault, wasn't it? Those ghosts were a product of his own pride.

Perhaps it was just written in his DNA that he was destined to be this, this monster. Perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps he just didn't care enough to change. 

"We can lay down, if you'd like." Eobard suggested as his thumb repeatedly stroked Malcolm's side, "I could also lend you my shirt. If you're cold, that is."

"I… wouldn't mind laying down." Malcolm forced the words out. His voice was cut up and raw like he hadn't used it in months. 

Eobard eased them both down onto the bed, giving Malcolm time to adjust before once again pulling him into his arms. They laid in silence for a few moments. Malcolm's head still spinning with every dark thought it could come up with. Even laying next to someone, he felt utterly alone. It was only when Eobard started tracing little lightning bolts on his skin, recounting facts about the speedforce did he start to feel less alone. Complete, even.

Though he never truly understood what Eobard was talking about, he enjoyed hearing him talk about something so passionately. They'd take turns rambling on and on some nights. Each story, each fact, accompanied with soft touches and little kisses. 

"I'm going to kill whoever did this to you," Eobard said a few moments after he finished his recounting of previous studies, leaving a quick kiss on Malcolm's shoulder. The way the words left his lips made it seem like that was the only logical response to the situation. He trailed his middle finger down the scar on Malcolm's chest as he added, "and this."

"I'm afraid you're a couple years too late on that one." Malcolm said.

Eobard's hand rested firmly over the scar as he moved to lean over Malcolm, "I'm a speedster. As far as I'm concerned, I'm never too late."

The assassin moved his hand over Eobard's, gripping it as the the speedster leaned down to kiss him.


End file.
